Hoist the Sails!
by The Dwelling Darkness
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy - an ex-chef living in England - was invited to a wedding in Switzerland. The problem was he had no money, so how was he to get there? Sneak on board a trading ship, of course! Or at least, that's what he thought it was. Cue alcohol-intolerant, France-hating Captain Arthur Kirkland and his multicultural band of pirate misfits! BL if you squint. Super squint.
1. First Plank - Stowaway

**Hello everyone! ^^ Here comes my first Hetalia fanfic, in celebration of the new and awesome Season 5! It won't be that long, maybe around five chapters. This isn't categorised as BL, but you can look deeper if you _want_. ;)**

**Pairings now and in the future (although this isn't really a romance, more of a light-hearted comedy): GerIta, FrUK, USUK, RoChu, DenNor, Spamano, and probably some more. :D**

**Warning: mild swearing. I mean, it _is_ pirate England meeting France. What do you expect? Human names are used. If you do not know these, just scroll to the bottom and I will have them written there! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fanfics! :) Which means I don't own Hetalia. This is a work of fiction for fans by a fan.**

**Edit (21/4/13): Typos and some word changes!**

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**First Plank: Stowaway**

Francis stared at the letter in front of him gravely, his azure eyes nearing tears. No, the letter in front of him didn't inform him of any sad news. Rather, the news was far from sad: his dear 'awesome' friend Gilbert Beilschmidt's younger brother Ludwig was 'awesomely' getting married in a week's time, and Francis was 'awesomely' invited to attend. All he had to do was purchase a ticket and ride the ferry over the English Channel, before getting off at the French coast, where he would make his way by carriage to Switzerland, where the 'awesome' wedding was to be held.

And here was the _awesome_ problem – Francis had no money. None. He had left his job as a chef at the local café because he believed he wasn't being treated well, and he had spent his last coin on a very nice glass of wine without realising it. So he had absolutely no idea how he was going to make it. He no longer had enough time to find another job and earn enough to pay for the fare.

But he didn't want to miss the wedding.

And so now here he was on the seaport, the letter in his pocket and a glint in his eye, his gaze floating over the docked ships, looking for a gap, an opening and any chance he could get to sneak on board. The journey would only take a few hours, so he was confident he wouldn't be found out. He had done his research. A trading ship named _L'Ange de Mer_ was leaving soon for France. If he could sneak into the cargo hold, there would be very few people for him to avoid.

His eyes squinted. _There_. All the way near the end of the port so that it was barely seen, behind a wooden sign that read _L'Ange de Mer_ in painted letters, was a vast and utterly gorgeous ship. Francis didn't know much about ships, but being French, he knew a beauty when he saw one. The shining wood and the intricately carved mermaid at the head helped the ship give off a grandiose aura. The mermaid was looking straight ahead, a pair of delicately carved wings extending out on either side of the ship, so realistic it seemed as if she was about to peel off the wood. There were round markings on the side of the ship as well, but Francis shrugged of the nagging feeling they gave him. Looking around him, he scurried through the crowds boarding other ships and made his way to the vessel. This side of the port was completely empty – there wasn't even a soul on the ship.

Slightly anxious, the Frenchman peeked at the empty deck, making sure no-one was aboard. As casually as he could, he climbed onto the ship and looked around. _Strange, where's the hatch to the cargo hold?_ He looked around him, eyes widening when he saw the door in the floor. He pulled it open by the ring and sniffed. It smelt musty and he was having second thoughts when he heard voices nearby.

Without wasting a moment, he slipped inside and carefully closed the hatch just as footsteps sounded against the wood of the deck. He sucked in his breath as boots walked across the hatch. They were so close, he could see the scuffed leather through the slits in the wood. He took a deep breath and a step back, but his back hit something and he turned around to see a barrel. Lots and lots of barrels. Francis sniffed again. _Rum…? Is that it? This trade ship is carrying rum…?_ _Where're the rest of the goods?_

'So who took the Captain to his quarters this time?' a jolly voice asked right above him as sounds of ropes scraping and commands being yelled filled the air.

'It was Yao. He lost the game at the bar and now the poor man has to carry that drunkard all the way to his room,' another man replied, his voice soft. 'He's out for the next day, I'd suspect. That makes you in charge until he's sober, Alfred.'

'Woah, when did you get here, Mattie? Didn't even notice you. Anyway, awesome news!' the jolly voice – Alfred – chuckled loudly. 'It's about time. I've been waiting to give orders for an attack for weeks now! He hasn't been this drunk since he lost the drinking game last year!'

_Attack?_ Francis wasn't sure he had heard right. This was a trade ship. Trade ships didn't _attack_.

'I still don't know how you got him to drink so much. We know how badly Captain can hold his liquor. You really shouldn't do that, Alfred. I still have no idea why he made you First Mate.'

'He was drunk back then as well, remember? Why, jealous, _bruh_?' Alfred sniggered, walking away. 'By the way, did you remember to remove that sign? I still can't believe how these idiots never realise we're always lying to them. I mean, would you ever see such a burly crew carry swords, pistols and cannons if they were traders?' he scoffed. 'What a bunch of stupid airheads.'

_Swords? Pistols? Cannons?_ Francis' nearly chocked, his fingers gripping the barrel tightly. _That's what those circular markings were? The cannon doors?! _He massaged his temple with a hand. _What have I gotten myself into…?_ His nerves rattling, he climbed on top of one of the barrels and pressed an eye against a crack to see if he could get any indication, a measly clue, as to who these people were. Maybe he could reveal himself and try to explain, get off the ship before –

A shudder ran through the ship and Francis blinked as the ships half-sails unfurled in all their glory, white sheets rippling in the wind. A feeling of horror settled in the pit of his stomach as the ship lurched forward, throwing him off balance.

'Half-sails ready!' A huge man came to stand into his view. He held something in his hand.

'We're still near port, Ivan, you dimwit,' a masculine voice – slightly higher pitched – hissed. 'Fly that around right now and the guards will be on our tails in seconds!' Francis licked his lips as his gaze focused on the black flag that the man – Ivan – was holding. Ivan slowly folded it and Francis cursed softly.

'Why, Yao, are you so worried for my safety?' Ivan laughed quietly but the sound sent shivers down Francis' back.

'You can take care of yourself. I'm worried about the Captain,' Yao snapped. 'He's so drunk he can barely stand.'

'Who can _hic_ bar'ly stand, you sa-_hic_?'

The rowdy voice made Francis flinch and Yao gasp. 'Captain, I thought I locked your door! What are you doing out here?'

'Imma _pirate_,' the voice – the Captain – said dryly. 'I know how to unlock me own _hic_ door! And why isn't the flag raised? Where's yer pride?'

'But…we were near the port, so…'

'We aren't _hic_ near the port now! Raise it.'

'But we only raise it if we're about to attack, or did you forget, Captain?' Yao spat. 'Now go back to your room!'

'Watch your tongue,' the voice snarled.

Francis strained through the gap but he could only see Yao and Ivan from underneath; the Captain was out of his field of vision. Francis went to step away but he realised too late he was still on the barrel. His foot finding no hold, he collapsed awkwardly, and with a rather loud crash, on the floor. The squabbling voices above him stopped.

'What was that?' Alfred asked a little worriedly. 'Captain, this ship isn't haunted, right?'

'I thought I smelled a rat,' Ivan walked off the hatch and Francis scrambled behind one of the barrels, crouching down and holding his breath as the door creaked open.

'There's no one in there,' Alfred muttered after a pause. Relieved, Francis sighed before he could stop himself.

'I wouldn't be so sure.'

Before the Frenchman knew it, a big man with light blonde hair and a huge yet menacing smile had gripped him by the shoulder and pulled him out of the room, throwing him like a rag doll onto the deck. 'I would have to be dead not to smell that wonderful perfume,' the man named Ivan said with a grin.

Francis could only see that grin swimming around in his vision as he rubbed the back of his head a groaned. 'Handle me a little gently, _sil vous plait_,' he mumbled, blinking to get a look at who had discovered him.

At first, he only saw that man – Ivan – towering above him, cracking his knuckles. The thick coat he wore increased his size and the scarf around his neck whipped in the sea breeze. 'He walks the plank, _da_?'

Over his shoulder popped another man with chestnut eyes, black hair tied back and a small round face puckered in confusion. 'Who is this?'

'Outta the way, dudes,' a lean man with a mop of dirty blonde hair dared to push Ivan away. His shining blue eyes gazed down at Francis through thin spectacles, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a revolver at the Frenchman's face. 'Who are you? What're you doing on board the _Britannia Angel_?'

Francis hurriedly got to his feet, the barrel of Alfred's gun aimed at his nose the entire time. '_B…Britannia Angel_? I…I thought this was the cargo ship _L'Ange de Mer_!' he spluttered.

'Oh really?' Alfred scrunched up his nose, gaze wondering over the stowaway. 'You don't look like you'll be trouble. But how'd you end up here?'

'Well,' Francis raked a hand through his hair. _Should I tell them the truth?_ 'Well, _mon ami_, I needed to get to France for my friend's wedding, so I thought that a cargo ship would be a fast way of getting there.' He couldn't lie to them and say he had intended to buy a ticket. What if they asked him for money? He had none!

'So you're a fair-dodger,' a quiet voice murmured and Francis turned around to see another man, similar looking to Alfred albeit the lesser height, darker hair and stark blue eyes.

'…_oui_,' Francis shrugged.

'Well, you sure picked the wrong ship to sneak aboard. You're French, aren't you?' Alfred sighed, holstering his gun and looking behind Francis. 'Our Captain ain't gonna be too happy.' Francis bit his lip and turned.

Standing behind him, booted foot tapping impatiently on the wooden deck, was another man. He was dressed in a crumpled white shirt with dirtied ruffles, a long gold embroidered and scarlet coat draped over his small frame and an aged tri-cornered hat hiding his face from view. The flowing white plume attached to the material waved gently as he raised his head.

'Stowaway, huh?' he grunted and Francis got a good look at his face. It was a young face – not too young but not old either, maybe around Francis' own age – with pale pinkish skin that had turned red on the cheeks by drinking too much. Large eyes glared at him, anger evident in the emerald, though the look was slightly dulled from the alcohol he had consumed. He swaggered over to Francis, golden eyebrows raised. 'A stowaway,_ hic_, an' a _Frenchman_ at that?' he scoffed. 'Jus' my luck.' Francis flinched at the rowdy accent and before he could be stupid enough to retort, the man – or _Captain_, as he was – pulled out his gun. He was slightly shorter than Francis, placing the gun against the bottom of Francis' chin and tilting his head up. 'Gimme a good reason, _hic, _why I shou'n't decorate me deck with yer brains,' he hissed.

The man would've been much more intimidating without the hiccuping, but he was certainly dangerous. 'You would need to clean up afterwards,' Francis tried replying smoothly, though his voice shook a little. 'And I don't think I deserve _death_ for what I did, _non_?'

'I'll show you what you deserve, bloody Frenchie,' the Captain sneered and pulled the trigger.

_Bang!_

Francis had closed his eyes, waiting for the end. _Why did I event sneak aboard?__!_ was what he thought would be his final regret. But after a moment, he realised that he didn't feel any different… He blinked his eyes open.

'Now, now, Captain,' Alfred had hit the Captain's arm up at the last moment, sending the bullet out into the sea. He took a deep breath, forehead beaded with sweat. 'We don't go killing people without a good reason. Where's the justice in that?' He turned to the man in the ponytail. 'Yao, why didn't you take his gun away?' he whispered.

Yao looked away. 'I forgot.'

Francis wanted to kill him.

'Alfred, lemme go!' the Captain shouted as his First Mate wrestled the gun out of his grasp. 'I'm Cap'n Arthur bloody Kirkland! You can't do this to me! Mutiny!'

'We need to figure out what to do with the stowaway,' he elbowed his Captain away. 'What's your name?' Alfred asked.

'Francis Bonnefoy.'

'Bloody French,' the Captain snarled, hand moving to grab his sword but finding it was no longer there.

'Well, Francis,' Alfred sighed, tossing his captain's sword and gun to another crew member. 'I'm guessing you don't have money to pay us for the trip, right? And you said you want to go to France?'

'_Oui…_yes,' Francis changed the language when he saw green eyes flash with hate.

'Well, we weren't planning to go to France straight away, but you can stick around for a few days until we finish…our job…in the Atlantic, then we can drop you off on the French coast,' he held up a finger with a grin. 'On one condition. You have to work in exchange.'

It was clear to Francis who was really in charge of this vessel. Francis nodded, grateful for the kindness of these sailors. 'I can cook,' he suggested.

'Good,' Yao pouted. 'I need another hand in the kitchen. The Captain hates anything I make for him. He prefers fish and fried potato sticks for some reason.' He stuck his tongue out in disgust. 'He has no tastebuds. I can't wait till we find a ship in the Atlantic. They should have good fish on board that we can take.'

'Huh?' Francis raised an eyebrow. 'Find a ship? To trade with, you mean,' it sounded more like a question that a statement, since Francis had an idea as to who these people _really_ were. But he didn't want to admit it.

'What do you think we do? Trade?' Matthew, the quiet one, spoke up, voicing his thoughts. The boy pointed up at the mast above him. Francis eyes followed his finger, widening when they laid their gaze on the Jolly Roger gleefully dancing in the wind.

Alfred clapped him on the shoulder, teeth gleaming in a full grin. 'We ain't tradesmen, Francis Bonnefoy…we're _pirates_.'

…_merde._

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**I hope with all my heart you enjoyed this chapter! And don't worry about England's accent, he speaks like that only when he's drunk. Please imagine it as more of a pirate/cockney mix, sorta…it's rather difficult to type it. Please, if you have the time, review to tell me how I can improve or your thoughts on the fic in general. Chapter Two won't be too far away! Thank you for your time!**

**If you haven't guessed it already, here are the countries and their human names:**

**Francis: France**

**Gilbert: Prussia**

**Ludwig: Germany**

**Alfred: America**

**Matthew: Canada**

**Ivan: Russia**

**Yao: China**

**Arthur/Captain: England**

**More countries will make their appearance in future chapters.**


	2. Second Plank - Chef

**Sorry for the late update, my wonderful readers! . I've actually had this chapter written for quite a while now, but I hadn't had time to post it! Anyway, onto the second chapter! I hope you enjoy. :D**

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**Second Plank – Chef**

'Wake up.'

Francis groaned. '_Non_,_ mon cherie_.'

'_Wake up!'_

Francis had been dreaming of his home, _France_. He was seeing the beautiful fields, beautiful architecture, and beautiful _ladies_ when suddenly, he was seeing stars. He bleary blinked open his eyes and rubbed his sore head, finding Yao's round face very close to his and a metal spoon gripped in his pale hands.

'Ah!' Francis scrambled up, wincing as cramps jolted through his back and the previous day's events rushing through his head. 'Y-Yao, what is the matter?'

'You're late for work!' the Chinaman scowled, tossing some clothes at Francis. 'Get dressed. I'll meet you in the kitchens.' Francis stared at Yao's back as he slammed the door closed.

He sighed, looking around him. The room they had given him wasn't half bad – it had a round window that let in the sea breeze, a hammock just big enough to fit him comfortably and a cupboard built into the opposite wall, complete with a lock so the contents wouldn't fall out when the ship moved. They were pirates, but certainly very hospitable ones.

He made to get out of his small hammock, which was quite a feat. He had never slept in a hammock before, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as he thought it would have been. Francis had read about pirates before, when he was a child. Apparently they slept in hammocks because then the tilting of the ship wouldn't roll them off their beds or cause sickness. He managed to get to his feet and dress himself.

Clad in baggy brown pants and a white shirt, his leather belt tied tightly around his waist, Francis stumbled out of the room and looked around. _Now where are the kitchens?_ A familiar head of dark blonde hair passed him and he grabbed the boy by the shoulder. 'Matthew, my boy, can you tell me the way to the kitchens?'

The boy jumped at the sudden contact, but round eyes rolled to meet his. 'Uh, sure,' he said, his face confused. Francis gave a small bow in thanks as Matthew pointed down the hallway. 'Just at the end there.'

The Frenchman smiled as he arrived at the door to the kitchens. Smell of fish, vegetables and oil drifted into his nose and he scowled. He looked around for Yao but his eyes stopped at a petit figure at the end of the room. She had her back to Francis and was wearing pants and a blue shirt, slender fingers raking through long black hair. Francis slipped behind her, placing his hands on the counter in front and on either side of her, and smiled.

'What brings a _belle_ lady like you to a stinky ship like this?' he purred. The body under his tensed and his eyes widened when he saw who he was _really_ flirting with.

With a stream of Chinese curses, Yao's elbow found Francis' stomach and his foot landed between his legs. With a feeble moan, Francis sunk to the floor. Yao retied his hair in a ponytail, his face red. 'I am _not a lady_! I'm manly!'

'Whatever you say, of course!' Francis raised his hands defencelessly.

'Get to work,' Yao spat, pointing to a counter. 'Start making stew for lunch. I have to make Captain's breakfast. He is still asleep and I have to wake him. I always serve him breakfast at six, but today I am letting him sleep two hours more. The poor man needs to sleep off all that alcohol.'

'What does he have for breakfast?'

'Tea. And some bread. Now get to work!' Yao snapped his fingers. 'Actually, wait. Today, _you_ make the breakfast. And serve it to him. I am not in the mood for dealing with a captain that has a hangover.'

Francis took a step back. 'Wait! He hates the French. Wouldn't he try to kill me again?'

'He'll be too sleepy to realise,' Yao snapped, thrusting a plate and a cup into Francis' hands. 'Wake him and put this on his side table. He will eat it. His quarters are on the top deck.'

Francis looked down at the tray. 'Is he always like that?'

'Like what?' Yao raised an eyebrow.

'Well…your Captain seemed a little rowdy,_ non_? A little…immature?' he said slowly, not wanting to upset. 'To me, your First Mate seems more like he's in charge.'

To his surprise, Yao's face softened. 'Captain can't hold his liquor. That's the only problem. Meet him when he's sober, and maybe your impression will change,' was all he said.

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Francis licked his lips, hesitantly following orders, Yao's last words ringing in his head. _My impression will change? Like that stupid Englishman can impress me._ He walked up onto the deck and climbed the stairs to the Captain's room. The door was unlocked, as Yao had said, and Francis stepped into the room. It was a beautiful room. Sunlight streamed in through the two round windows and danced over a wooden desk, brown chairs, a large chest, a tall cupboard and glinted off the gun on the floor. Francis instinctively kicked the firearm away and it skidded across the floor, hitting the sword on the ground with a clang. He flinched and saw movement in the corner of his eye.

The bed…well, it wasn't a bed, of course. It was a rather big, light green hammock piled with white sheets. It wasn't very large, but it was larger than Francis'. The lump in the white sheets moved again as Francis gingerly approached it. A head was resting on the pillow and Francis couldn't believe that the peaceful face before him belonged to the wild Captain from yesterday. Bushy eyebrows were scrunched in irritation. Long gold lashes cast shadows on the pale cheeks and pink lips were slightly open as the man breathed in and out. Francis placed the plate and cup on the table beside the hammock and shook the man awake. The Captain's face scrunched up and he turned away.

'Captain,' Francis said. 'Wake up. Breakfast is here.' When he got no reply, he said it louder and shook more. But there was no response. Francis decided to be more familiar. 'Arthur,' he muttered. 'Wake up now! Arthur!' The Captain – Arthur – groaned, and his eyes blinked open. They landed on Francis and before Francis could shout, he felt cold metal against his chest and a half-awake Briton very close to his face.

'Who're you?' he mumbled, his gaze hazy.

Francis swallowed and gently pushed the small man back into the sheets, eyes on the gun. _This man keeps a gun under his pillow!_ 'Um, I am the new chef,' he replied, trying not to make his accent evident. Arthur gazed at the food, then back at Francis. He shrugged and began drinking is tea.

'I've got such a bloody headache,' he groaned. 'Very well then,' he mumbled, pulling at his nightshirt. 'Thank you. Now off with you; I need to change.'

Francis was shocked. Not only had that man completely forgotten about Francis and his nationality, but his manners and speech were suddenly polished. Maybe Yao had been right in part, but that didn't make that man a good Captain. Francis would have to see him in action.

* * *

'The Captain wants to see the Frenchman.'

Francis looked up from chopping fish to see Matthew at the door. Yao turned to him expectantly. 'Well, go. Don't keep Captain waiting.'

Francis wiped his hands on a rag and followed Matthew. Instead of going to the Captain's room, they went to the front of the deck. A familiar figure was standing by the wheel, both hands on a spyglass looking out into the sea. Matthew cleared his throat and Arthur looked at them, retracting the device. His jade eyes had a shine that hadn't been there yesterday and his skin was no longer red. His clothes seemed brighter as well – white ruffles gently cascaded down his shirt, stopping short of a gleaming, jewelled belt buckle (probably stolen) and dark pants that swept down to polished leather boots. His crimson coat rustled and the variety of rings (also probably stolen) on his fingers shone as he pushed his hat up. He gazed at Francis.

'I _would_ apologise for my atrocious behaviour yesterday,' he began with a scowl. 'But considering the circumstances, I believe _you_ need to apologise to _me_.'

Francis bowed, surprised at the pleasant, crisp accent and elegant way of speech. This man didn't seem like his drunk self, nor did he seem like a pirate. 'I am deeply sorry. I did not realise this was the ship _Britannia Angel_. The sign I saw said _L'Ange de Mer_.'

Arthur couldn't help but laugh, his demeanour taking a turn. 'Yes! Oh dear lord, don't you find that amusing? Good think our boy Matthew knows a little French. He painted that for us. A British pirate ship hiding under a French name? That way, if we do anything, the French are to blame!' he guffawed. Matthew cleared his throat again.

'Captain, this man is French.'

'I know,' Arthur glowered. '_Francis Bonnefoy_, you're lucky Alfred was in charge when he assigned you to work in the kitchens. If I was able back then, I would have sent you off the plank.'

'Did somebody say plank?' Ivan's soft voice flowed. Francis shivered.

'But he wasn't in charge!' Arthur jumped as the ebullient voice shouted near his ear. Alfred winked at him. 'You're really hard to handle when you're drunk, Captain.'

'Bloody hell Alfred,' Arthur sniffed, adjusting his collar. 'Stop doing that. And you're the one to blame. You got me drunk in the first place.'

'Hey, I just leave the rum in front of you and I look back to see it empty! So I refill the mug, but it happens again! And again, and again…'

'You tempted me, you git!' Arthur whacked his First Mate on the head.

Francis watched the exchange with amusement. '…are you lovers?'

The whole deck fell silent. Arthur and Alfred stared at the Frenchman.

'Excuse me?' Arthur asked.

'Lovers. Are you lovers? You know, two people who-'

'I bloody well know what _lover_ means!' he squealed while everyone erupted in laughter.

'Oh man,' Alfred slapped his knee, eyes streaming. 'Captain and me? Are you kidding? I would rather drown myself in acid than see him without- '

Arthur punched him in the stomach, face red. 'You don't have to drown yourself, I'll drown you instead!' He turned to Francis. 'Is there even a brain in that thick skull of yours? What aspect of Alfred could _remotely_ attract me?! You'll walk the plank if you keep acting this way!'

Ivan's towering figure came into view. 'Did somebody say plank?'

'Get lost, all of you!' Arthur huffed, extending his spyglass once more and placing an eye against it. On closer inspection, it was a magnificent piece: black metal rimmed with gold and lightly studded with small gems. Most likely stolen. 'If Francis Bonnefoy wants to get to France, we have to have enough goods to sell on the coast. Now _excuse me_ as I try to look for ships to pillage!'

Francis laughed nervously. 'W-we're going to pillage?'

'We're pirates,' Arthur frowned. 'Of course we pillage.' His face brightened and he looked back at his crew, giving them a curt nod and pointing west. Everybody dispersed, some went below deck and others got the sails ready. He glared at Francis. 'Follow me.'

The two climbed down into the ship and Arthur walked them to Francis' room. 'In there.'

'What's going on?'

'I'm going to lock you inside. I don't want you coming in the way.' He jerked his head. 'Found a ship. Good size. Trading ship, I think. It's time to do our job.'

'I…I can help! I can use a sword and pistols. They seem pretty easy to use.'

Arthur shook his head, smiling dryly. 'Yeah you can help. Help the trading ship. I know what you're planning – you think you can help the trading crew fight us, then they'll be grateful and provide a free ride home, huh?' he shoved Francis inside the room. 'Well, tough luck. You're staying here until it's all over.'

And with that, he slammed the door closed and Francis heard the lock turn. He clicked his tongue in annoyance as the footsteps resided, pulling at his long golden hair. Arthur had been partly right. Francis only wanted to _warn_ the trading ship from a distance, hoping that he could save it without anyone finding out it was him who did the warning. If it came down to traders versus pirates, he knew who would win. It would be suicide to try and help the losing side. But maybe he could do at least _something_ on the top deck, rather than sitting here being useless. He would think of the next step once he was on the deck. _But how do I get there…?_

His eyes landed on the open window. He grinned.

_That's how._

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**I hope you enjoyed this instalment! The next chapter will include a little bit of action and the introduction of another group of lovely Hetalia characters! Please, if you have the time, review to help me improve, or just to tell me your thoughts! ^^**


	3. Third Plank - Saviour

**Yay! Third chapter is UP! Whooo! I do hope you are enjoying this series, dear readers. Thank you greatly for your time, your favourites, your follows and your reviews. It really means so much to an amateur author like me! :) ****New Hetalia characters are introduced!**

**Warning: mild swearing!**

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**Third Plank – Saviour**

Francis was an idiot. Francis _knew_ he was an idiot. How did he know? Because only an idiot would try to squeeze out of a small ship window and try and climb the _outside_ of the vessel to get to the top deck.

Francis was also a genius. Francis _knew_ he was a genius. How did he know? Because only a genius would manage such an idiotic feat. And so that was how Francis, using his lean frame, managed to lather the windowsill with fish oil he found in a cupboard, strip himself down to his undershirt and boxers, and slither out onto the smooth outside of the ship. He miraculously managed to find footing on other window sills, ledges and openings long enough to haul himself over the barrier and onto the deck.

He laid huffing, body sheened with sweat, on the cold wood with his eyes closed. The breeze was cool and froze the perspiration of his skin. He didn't have long to regret discarding his garments as he heard footsteps approaching and rolled away behind some crates tied to the deck. Ignoring the chill, he peered above the crate to see who it was.

'Are the cannons ready?' a crisp British accent asked and Arthur's hat came into view.

'Yes sir,' Alfred replied. 'We're coming portside to their ship now.'

'I have eyes, Alfred. I can see that.'

Alfred chuckled. 'Just being thorough, Captain. Soon, we'll be ready to board. Everyone's armed and have strict instructions not to kill, but only subdue. We will also leave enough supplies on their ship to last them until the next port.'

'Nice to see I've made that clear,' Arthur said.

Francis raised his eyebrows. So these people were…_good_ pirates? Did such a thing exist? He ducked lower as he heard the captain's accented voice ring across the deck.

'Listen, crew of the trading vessel _Havhingsten_! Surrender now and we will leave you unharmed-'

'Pirates!'

Francis flinched as another voice boomed, laughing.

'Hear that, Lukas, these guys are _pirates_!'

Arthur cleared his throat. 'Yes, well, just have all your crew come onto-'

The annoying laugh drifted across the deck. 'Are they going to try and attack us now? HA! These idiots have no idea what their-_oof!_'

'Shut up, you idiot, before you get us all killed,' a second quiet voice muttered.

Arthur sighed. 'Yes, listen to your-'

'Lukas…you kicked me…between my legs…' the irritating voice squeaked.

'Oh dear, oh no. Lukas, what are we going to do? These are _pirates_!' another man with a lighter voice said nervously. 'Why don't we just give them what they want, then maybe we can get out of here alive!'

'Can you even hear yourself talk, Tino? Our ancestors were Vikings! And I'm Captain Matthias Køhler! I can take down these sissies with my own-_owww_! Damn it, Lukas, stop that…!'

A fourth person coughed. 'Lukas, you should really quit that. He _is_ our Captain.'

'Call me _big brother_ and I will, Emil.'

'In your dreams.'

'_Ow!_' the man named Matthias groaned again. Francis guessed he had been kicked once more. He was also secretly disappointed he hadn't heard any female voices. He was hoping for a damsel in distress he could save, who would reward him with a token of her gratitude…

'Just shut the bloody hell up!' Arthur yelled and Francis cringed, jerked out of his reverie. Arthur's patience had finally run out. 'Yao, Matthew, Ivan, restrain these men! Alfred, lead the men into the ship and start looting. I'll join you shortly.' Francis peeked over the crate further. He gasped when he saw that everyone who had a gun – which was really _everyone_ – had the barrel pointed off the side of the ship and at the heads of the crew. Their trading ship was slightly shorter than the _Britannia Angel_, but Francis couldn't see exactly how big. He sat up straighter, wanting to get a better view and found himself staring into a pair of brown eyes. 'Captain, I thought you locked this perverted Frenchman in his room?' Yao spat as Francis yelled, shuffling back.

Arthur turned around, his face taught with irritation. As soon as his eyes focused on Francis, his expression transformed to one of shock, confusion, and then finally anger. 'What the bloody hell're you doing here?! And why do you stink of fish? And why aren't you wearing any clothes?'

'Uh,' Francis tried smiling. His charm always worked on the ladies. 'I thought I could help…' he looked past Arthur and saw the other ship, a flag of a rearing silver mare whipping in the breeze on its mast. It was small – about a third the size of the pirate's vessel – but it looked sturdy. 'This is the trade ship we're looting?'

'_We,_ excluding you, yes. I'm not going to bother asking how you got here in the first place, but,' Arthur tossed him a coil of rope. 'You might as well make yourself useful. Tie up the crew. If they resist, well…make sure they don't; but no serious injuries, okay? Alfred,' he turned to his First Mate. 'Be careful. There are most likely other people on board.'

'Sure thing Captain,' Alfred winked and, with a wave of his gun, grabbed a rope and swung off the ship. Ivan, Yao, Matthew and a few of the crew members followed him. Francis gaped as the men disappeared off the side. He rushed over to the railing and there it was before him – the small trading ship, with half of Arthur's crew on board, restraining the Nordics. Three out of the four weren't putting up much of a fight. Rather, once they realised they were outnumbered at least one to three, they raised their hands in defeat. The captain, however, was much more resilient. It took a kick from Yao to disarm him of his gun and Ivan's strength to immobilise him.

'Hey! This isn't fair, you guys!' he yelled, adding a few curses in some language Francis didn't know. 'You can't just _take_ our property!'

Arthur grinned, a glint in his eye. He grabbed a rope and handed it to Francis. 'What're you still doing here? Go!' With that, he pushed the Frenchman off the deck.

Francis squealed in a very unmanly manner. His hand gripped the rope tightly but he had lost his balance and was about to tip over the railing. Screaming, he grabbed the closest thing to his person. Which was a very nice red coat. Which Arthur was wearing. The Briton's eyes widened as he was also pulled off the ship and scrabbled for grip on the rope. Francis – shrieking for dear life the entire way – swung from the pirate ship, over the tiny strip of water, on top the trading ship…but then starting swinging back.

'Let go of the bloody rope!' Arthur yelled from where he was tightly hugging Francis's waist. 'Now! Or we'll end up in the water!'

Francis swallowed and obeyed. He felt his stomach rise into his throat and the deck of the trading vessel rushed up to meet him. His landing pained less than he expected, but it still hurt. He groaned as agony shot through his stomach and something sharp poked his hip. _Merde…have I broken a rib?_

He could feel something move underneath him and he knew exactly what had happened. His fall had been broken…by Arthur.

'Get…off…me…you…bloody…frog…'

Hands were placed on his shoulders and he was violently shoved back. It was a hilt of a sword that had stabbed his stomach and a pistol had been digging into the flesh at his hip. He got up with his hands and knees still on either side of the body below him, still hanging over the captain. His eyelids fluttered open to see green eyes mere inches away from his. The owner had a very red face, whether from anger, embarrassment or anxiety, he didn't know. They were like that, breathing on each other's faces, for an entire three seconds before Arthur landed a knee between the Frenchman's legs.

'_Mon dieu!'_ Francis wheezed, rolling off and curling into a foetal position beside his attacker. _What is up with people and kicking between the legs?!_

Arthur cleared his throat as he got up, fixing his ruffled collar and patting down his coat. He nearly blushed when he saw almost everyone on the two ships was silent, slack-jawed and staring at him. Their Nordic prisoners were no exception, except for their noisy captain.

'Get your hands off me!' he yelled. 'We'll show you what we're made of with one-on-one combat! Captain to captain,' he glared at Arthur, a grin on his young face. 'If you win, we give you our stuff. If we win, you give us your stuff! Like food. We like food.'

Matthew sighed. 'You wouldn't last five seconds against our captain,' he said and tried to ignore the Dane's gasp of surprise when he realised Matthew was there.

Before Arthur could answer, a loud crash resounded from below deck. His head whipped to the door, face worried. 'Alfred! Everything okay there?'

'Ah, I think Berwald woke up. He wasn't feeling very well,' the man named Emil muttered.

'…Berwald?' Arthur repeated.

The one named Tino nodded, brown eyes soft with anxiety. 'Yeah. He does all the heavy lifting. I think he's seasick.'

_What kind of sailor gets seasick?!_ Francis thought, standing shakily to his feet.

'Heavy lifting, huh?' Arthur muttered. 'Berwald, the guy who does the heavy lifting… Alfred,' he added, louder.

No answer.

'Alfred!'

They all heard the footsteps: heavy and slow, getting closer by the second.

Arthur clicked his tongue, taking out his gun and pointing it at the open door. 'Whoever is coming out, stand down or we will shoot!'

The footsteps stopped, then suddenly picked up speed. A figure flashed in the doorway and Arthur's finger tightened on the trigger, barrel aim for a shot in the leg when out popped a familiar man with tawny hair.

'Be quiet, Captain!' Alfred hissed, dragging the man that was leaning on his shoulder over to the railing. The man bent over and retched and retched and retched. Francis pulled a face at the sounds.

'For goodness sake Alfred, what are you doing?' Arthur spat.

'He's sick. We came into his room to find him about to pass out, so I thought to bring him on deck. But while we were walking, he said he wanted to puke, so here we are,' Alfred said with a shrug. 'You're too loud. You'll give him a headache.'

'At least answer when I call you. How do I know you're fine, huh?' Arthur scowled and lightly knocked Alfred's head with the hilt of his pistol. He turned to Denmark. 'So, you want to go captain to captain?' he smiled, yet there was a sly glint in his eye. 'You wouldn't stand a chance. I think it's safer if you just let us do what we want, then we can leave you on your merry way, okay?' he turned to his First Mate. 'What do they have to offer us?'

Francis like how he used the word 'offer'.

Alfred rubbed his neck. 'Um…furniture…'

'…come again?'

'Furniture.'

'Furniture?'

'Furniture.'

Arthur massaged his forehead. 'Furniture, as in tables and chairs and cupboards, but nothing like supplies or gold?'

'Nope, even their kitchens are empty. But furniture is good! We can renovate,' Alfred flashed him one of his bright grins. 'Or sell it. It's very nice furniture.'

'It's not _convenient_ to sell things like furniture,' Arthur took a deep breath. 'And how have they been surviving if their kitchens are empty?'

'That's kind of why we need food,' Lukas scowled, blue eyes narrowed. 'This idiot of a captain forgot to make sure we stocked enough for the time we were going to be at sea. He kept on telling the crew that there were more crates, but turns out he miscounted. Oh, but he didn't miscount the _beer_. No, he finished all of that by himself!'

Captain Matthias sighed. 'I'm sorry.'

'We know you're sorry. You've apologized enough.' Lukas glared at Arthur, the stare unnerving. 'If fact, I'd rather you shoot us all right now rather than loot us and leave us to die from starvation. We don't have enough energy and food to even last us the next day, let alone the next port. So go on, shoot us!'

The British pirate was silent, before he motioned Alfred to come closer. They whispered some things to each other hastily, the First Mate's face set with determination and the Captain's with worry.

Arthur sighed and holstered his firearm. 'We're not going to kill you. We don't do that, not anymore.' He massaged his temple. 'So you don't have any more supplies even to make it to the nearest port?'

Lukas shook his head and Matthias looked away.

The Briton glanced at Yao. 'Yao, how about our supplies?'

'Barely enough to last our crew to France,' the Chinaman frowned. 'Remember, you ordered us to spend the rest of our money on the expensive food on the British coast rather than buy the cheap and much tastier food in France. We don't have any supplies to spare. We can't afford to give them any.'

Arthur clicked his tongue again and observed his crew. He knew if he were to hesitate any longer, it wouldn't look good in front of his men. 'Fine. The Nordics can follow us until we loot another ship, then we'll split the supplies and head to France.'

'What?!' every man on the two vessels gaped at Arthur.

'What?' he shrugged. 'We can't leave them to die, which they most certainly will, seeing as they don't have enough food and energy to make it to the nearest port.'

Francis was shocked at the man's consideration. He never expected this from a pirate captain, and a British one at that.

'But Captain…' Yao started but was silenced with a glare.

'Don't worry, we'll still take some of their…furniture…as a fee.'

'Hey, hey, hey,' Matthias interjected. 'We never agreed to this!'

Emil and Tino exchanged glances before turning to Lukas. Lukas drew his eyebrows together. 'I don't think we have a choice, Matthias.'

The Dane shook his head. 'We will _not_ loot an innocent ship; we will _not_ steal other people's belongings, Lukas! Our _ancestors_ were the Vikings. We may have their vigour, but we don't have their cruelty. We're better than that. I know you agree. That's why I made you my First Mate.'

The smaller man was hesitating at his captain's words. 'I…we…'

'_Un moment_,' Francis said, breaking the building tension.

'Not now, you frog,' Arthur began but Francis waved him off.

'_Non_, listen to me. If the subject of morality is the problem, then they don't have to _follow_ us, they can be our hostages.'

'…hostages?'

'_Oui_,' Francis's eyes twinkled. 'We "force" them to come along with us but they don't take part in the looting. And as the hospitable pirates we are, of course we can't let them starve…'

Slowly, Arthur's lips curled up in a smile. 'Not a bad idea, frog-face.'

Francis tried to ignore the insult and nodded. 'My pleasure, _capitaine_.'

'Hey!' Arthur yelled to his crew, his tone strong and commanding. 'The crew of the _Havhingsten_ are hereby our hostages. Take control of their trading vessel and lock them in their quarters!'

'I guess you are safe from th eplank, for now...' Ivan chuckled as he carried a struggling Matthias into the ship.

The Nordic captain did not seem happy. 'Wait, what? No, wait!'

'_Hold kjeft_, Matthias,' Lukas muttered as he was escorted into the ship by Yao. 'Thanks,' he mumbled almost inaudibly as he passed Francis, but Francis heard it, and it made him smile.

'Why are you smiling, Frenchie?' Arthur snorted as he watched Matthew follow Emil indoors.

'I saved the day, didn't I?' Francis's smile turned into a grin. Arthur rolled his eyes as Alfred helped the tall Berwald back onto his feet. Tino rushed over to him and patted the man's back. Berwald's stern expression relaxed slightly as he put an arm around the smaller sailor's shoulder and the two were ushered inside by Alfred. The American turned back to his captain and Francis and gave them a wink.

'Saved the day? We'll see about that,' Arthur scoffed, repositioning his hat. 'I'm tasking you the job of bringing the food to them. Everyone else will be busy maintaining two ships to worry about the prisoners.'

Francis laughed quietly. 'You know, you're quiet extraordinary.'

'…sorry?'

Francis folded his arms behind his head and stretched his muscles. 'I don't think I've ever met someone like you – a pirate, but not.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Arthur began scowling.

'Hey, don't give me that look. I'm complimenting you,' Francis said. 'You aren't half-bad, for a pirate captain.'

Arthur was silent, not meeting Francis's eyes. Francis couldn't be sure…but was he…blushing? Before he could comment on the captain's reddening skin, Arthur turned to face the man and his gaze wondered over Francis. He scrunched up his nose. 'Dear God, please wear some clothes, would you?'

The Frenchman chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He leaned in closer to Arthur's face. 'Won't the gentleman lend me his coat?'

'And have it smell like fish? No thank you,' Arthur shook his head firmly, and ordered the men on board the _Britannia Angel_ to lower planks and create makeshift bridges between the two ships. 'Off with you. Get cleaned up and come back here.'

Francis shrugged and turned to leave, but felt a hand on his shoulder.

'Thanks,' Arthur mumbled, seemingly choking on his words. 'You aren't half-bad either…for a frog.'

Francis grinned. 'Why, thank you, _rosbif_.'

And then he proceeded to bolt to his quarters before a certain Englishman blew his top.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll be quite busy for the next few weeks, but I shall try and update as soon as possible! Another bunch of characters will appear in the next chapter, please look forward to it! :D**

**Hold kjeft: "shut up" in Norwegian.**

**Matthias: Denmark**

**Lukas: Norway**

**Tino: Finland**

**Berwald: Sweden**

**Emil: Iceland**


	4. Fourth Plank - Acquaintance

**Sorry for the delay! Life's been really busy these days, but hopefully this chapter is worth the wait! :D Introducing more characters, yay!Thank you everyone for your support! This is such a huge fandom, and I really appreciate those who take the chance to read these little fics! Reviews are truly the fuel for motivation. Warning: mild swearing (in more than one language)!**

* * *

**Fourth Plank: Acquaintance**

The looming ship sliced through the water, the varnished wooden serpent at the head of the vessel baring its fangs at the coiling waves, daring them to try harder. The sails were completely unfurled, the wind assaulting the silk. The men on the deck yelled orders, passed ropes and checked the masts. Dark clouds were boiling on the horizon and they knew the weather would show them no mercy.

'Where is that idiot?' a boy with rich brown hair spat, chocolate eyes scanning the top deck. 'Shouldn't he be doing something _useful_ around here?!'

'Sir, what should we do with this extra rope?' a voice called from his left.

'Throw it overboard! Like hell I care! Ask the damn captain, not me!'

'But I can't find him, and you're the First-'

The boy interrupted him with a string of curses. 'Then find the idiot!'

A jovial chuckle resounded behind him. '_Ay caramba_, such colourful language so early in the day?'

The young man whipped around and squealed – no, he _exclaimed,_ not squealed, only girls squealed – when he saw the face of his grinning captain so close to his. '_Dio mio_, you _bastardo_, what do you think you're doing?!'

His captain grinned, green eyes shining with mirth. 'I was up on the main mast. Some of the sails had gotten tangled.'

The boy looked at his captain head to foot, his beating heart slowly calming down. The white shirt the captain was wearing was smeared with mud, the top few buttons undone and the collar crooked. His signature red and gold coat was nowhere to be seen – quite possibly removed beforehand so as to save it from being soiled. His black pants were rolled up to his knees and the gold embroidery on them was all but destroyed – not that that was a problem, he had plenty of spares.

'You climbed up the mast? In this weather?' the young man gaped. 'Are you an _idiot_?! What if you had fallen, eh?! What if you had-'

The captain lifted a tanned arm and patted the other one's head, smiling fondly. 'Ah, you were worried? It's fine, I've done it before, and someone had to do it, didn't they?'

The younger man's face reddened and he shook the hand off. 'I-I wasn't worried! _Idiota_, I'm the First Mate. If you had died I would have to be Captain, and I hate to do work!'

The captain's eyes grew stern. 'Lovino, get inside, the weather's going to get _muy _difficult to handle.'

Lovino glanced at the sky, swallowing. 'L-like I can't handle a little rain…'

Before his captain could reply, a dark-skinned man with brown dreadlocks clapped him on the shoulder. 'We have a problem, Antonio,' he murmured in his ear and patted a spyglass to his chest. The captain raised an eyebrow and accepted the offered instrument. 'Portside.'

The man named Antonio looked through the glass, toward the direction his Cuban friend had pointed in. His eyes widened as he adjusted the device and the silhouette in the distance gained form. He squinted and saw the Jolly Roger whipping in the breeze of the ship's mast. His breath caught in his throat when he saw what animal was on the head of the vessel. It took mere seconds for his grip to slacken and for the spyglass to fall to the ground.

'…Anotonio?' Lovino gazed at the pale face and wide-eyed expression on the Spaniard's face. 'What happened? What did you see?'

Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo just gazed at the sea, unable to form words.

'A ghost,' the Cuban muttered, face grim. 'We just saw a ghost.'

* * *

_Knock knock knock._

'Come in!' a voice chirped.

'Sorry, but I can't open the door,' Francis called back. He was balancing two trays, and unfortunately his arms were tiring fast. He had managed to knock on the door with his knee, but he couldn't open it that way. The door then swung inside of its own accord and a short man with blonde hair beamed up at him.

'Hello, Mr Bonnefoy!'

'Tino, please, I told you to call me Francis,' the Frenchman grinned. He had been in charge of bringing these men their food, and had befriended the sailor. 'Sorry, but we don't have much food to go around, so you'll have to survive off of a bowl of soup and some rum today,' Francis explained as he gratefully handed the trays over to the small man, watching him struggle with them. A shadow loomed behind him and another man – Berwald, a quiet albeit kind Swede – took the trays from the young Finnish lad. Francis bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and Berwald returned the gesture. He didn't like to talk much, which was fine with Francis. Better than that stupid Englishman, with his arrogant tone and his proud posture and his snarky remarks and his sharp, bewitching eyes and his striking… Francis cleared his throat, slightly surprised. He had no idea why his train of thought had derailed like that. It hadn't done that before. He had only been on this ship for three days now, and already it was messing with his head! Wishing to think of something else, he looked around the room.

The crew of the _Havhingsten_ had been forced into a minimal number of rooms, so it was easy to keep tabs on all of them. The five crew members they had found on the dock had been forced into large crew quarters, so there was plenty of room. It was just that the captain and the first mate did not have rooms of their own. First Mate Lukas was perfectly comfortable with the arrangement – he was just glad he wasn't being killed – but Captain Matthias had complained before a generous kick between the legs changed his mind.

The Icelandic boy, Emil, took a bowl and sipped the content gingerly. 'Did you make this yourself?'

Francis winked. '_Bien sûr!_ I _am_ the chef, aren't I? We've got plenty of rum too. That's about the only thing that ship has an abundance of. Oh, and please stay indoors, the weather seems a little off today so it may rain.'

'Thank you, Mr Bon…Francis,' Tino smiled, eyes crinkling.

'Just doing my job.'

'No, really, you saved us,' Tino pressed, glancing behind him at his brooding captain. 'Captain feels the same way, he's just a little proud to admit it. If it weren't for you, we would probably be dead by now.'

Francis shrugged, highly doubting that Arthur would have _killed_ these men. He had said so himself – he didn't kill, merely stole. A strange notion for a pirate to have, but it was certainly very…_gentlemanly_ of him. It left Francis wondering how he had become a pirate in the first place. He resolved to ask the blonde Englishman the next time they saw each other…if Arthur was in a good mood. Which he never was. Not with Francis. _Really_, Francis thought, _would it pain the man to crack a smile once in a while?_

'Francis? Are you okay? You seem annoyed. Did we do something?'

Francis blinked to see Tino's worried expression. '_Non, non!_' he reassured. 'Just thinking about some things.'

'Oh, okay. Well, thank you, really.'

Francis grinned, feeling a slight warmth at the thought of him being _helpful_. 'Please don't worry yourselves. I should get back to my other duties, otherwise _Captain Arthur_ will have a hissy fit.' They waved goodbye and Francis made his way onto his own ship…

He halted in his steps. _His_ ship? No, it wasn't _his_ ship; it was Arthur and his crew's. This was the second time in a few short minutes his mind had gone in an unwanted direction, and Francis resolved to pinch himself if it happened again. He made his way onto the_ Havhingsten_'s deck and walked across the makeshift rope bridge that connected the two ships. They were doing a pretty good job of having the ships travel side by side at an even pace. The Frenchman jumped onto the deck and scanned the landscape with wide cobalt eyes. As expected, Arthur and Alfred were on the deck, the Briton with a spyglass to his eyes and the American squinting in the same direction.

'Can we see land?' Francis asked suddenly, and the Englishman jolted in surprise. He looked behind him, and to Francis' surprise, he was smiling. 'A-Arthur?' Francis raised an eyebrow. This was a somewhat foreign expression on Arthur's face, so it was a little unnerving, even though Francis had wished for a similar thing moments before.

'Are you an idiot, frog-face?' Arthur scoffed and Francis rolled his eyes at the insult. He was getting used to them, he just had to think of some good comebacks of his own. 'Land, this early? No bloody way. I found something better,' Arthur flashed his teeth in a cheeky grin. 'Something I haven't seen in a _long_ time.'

'What, the sun? Silly _rosbif_, can't you see the storm clouds?'

Arthur scowled. 'No, you git. Something else. Some_one_ I missed _dearly_.'

Francis suppressed a shiver. Something alien had glinted in Arthur's eyes in the delivery of that last line – something almost _feral_.

'Captain's just a little excited,' Alfred explained rather unhelpfully. He snatched the spyglass from his superior and peered through it. 'Ah, haven't seen that beauty in a good ten years!' he grinned. 'Hey, Captain, if I'm not wrong – and when am I ever – I'd say she's turning away from us.'

Arthur hastily grabbed the device and pressed it to his eye. 'Bloody hell, they are! Turning tail and running away, are you, you little…' Arthur's lips pulled up in a smirk. 'Alfred, all hands on deck. You know what this means, don't you?'

The American beamed in response, pushing his spectacles up his nose in a haughty manner. 'Absolutely. It's about time.' And with that, he ran off to do whatever he was going to do.

'…About time for what?' Francis asked, completely lost. Arthur handed him the spyglass with a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Francis wordlessly peeked through it and his mouth dropped open when he found what the subject of the conversation had been about. It was a ship, absolutely beautiful, with full white sails and a dark wood finish. It was quite some distance away…and it was getting smaller. 'They…they're sailing away from us.'

'Maybe you do have a brain in that head of yours, Francis,' Arthur muttered. 'That there is a ship I've seen before, a long decade ago. The second ship I ever dared to raid ever since I became Captain at twenty years,' he added with an air of pride.

'…you're thirty years of age?'

Arthur glared at him. 'That's not the point-'

'I thought you were younger! Given your height and your looks. As well as your childish behaviour. Why, then I am merely three years older than you-'

'Well, you act like a bloody kid too! Now listen to me!' the _petit_ man fumed and Francis had to refrain himself from laughing. Arthur looked adorable when his flashing green eyes contrasted with the red of his cheeks. Almost like…a tomato. 'The last time I met the Captain of that ship, I beat him so bad he probably still has nightmares when he hears my name,' he snarled. 'Back then, I wasn't quite the gentleman I am now, so he views me with at least a shred of fear and respect! He's also bloody rich, so we're going to follow him, and we're going to fight him, and we're going to leave him and his crew in nothing but their underclothes!'

Francis licked his lips. 'So…'

'You either help us, or I'll lock you in your quarters. What'll it be?'

'The second option didn't work the last time...'

'…so I guess I have your answer,' Arthur nodded before pulling out his gun. Francis instinctively took a step back, given previous experience. Arthur's nose twitched in annoyance as he pointed the hilt towards the Frenchman. 'I won't shoot you, frog, I'm giving it to you. Can't have you absolutely defenceless in the middle of a fight, now can we? Your cooking…the crew seems to like it. It'll be…troublesome if you die.'

Francis opened his mouth to tease him but Arthur's glower shut him up. He gripped the hilt with caution, getting the feel of the weight in his hand. 'Is this still necessary?' he asked instead.

'These aren't Nordic tradesmen we're going up against,' Arthur sighed, looking back at the sea with longing in his eyes, 'these are _real_ pirates. And what's more thrilling that a battle amid a storm?'

* * *

Lovino tugged at his Captain's sleeve harshly. 'Why did we change course? Are we running away like cowards?!' he yelled. Lovino knew when people ran away. He did it himself quite often. He had no idea who they were running away from; he just knew that Antonio had had a bad experience with this person in the past.

Antonio's mouth was set in a straight line, eyes staring right ahead. 'We can't take any chances, especially in this weather.' The air had indeed turned colder and the clouds had blocked out the sun.

Lovino scowled, looking at the tall man beside him. 'Carlos, what is the meaning of this?'

But before the Cuban could reply, Antonio grabbed Lovino's shoulder's and looked deep into his eyes. 'I thought that man was dead,' he murmured, and Lovino knew he had never seen Antonio so agitated before. 'But if even _el Diablo_ can't keep him underwater, there's no way I'm risking those close to me.'

Lovino looked back at him. 'If the devil can't keep him from chasing you, you think running away will? Just end this once and for all.' Antonio's eyes widened and he looked up at Carlos.

Carlos grinned at him. 'Hey, would you look at that? The spineless brat actually said something brave for once.'

And while Carlos faced the brunt of Lovino's…imaginative…vocabulary, Antonio felt his heart swell. Lovino was actually right, for once. If he didn't face this today, it would come back again to haunt him later.

'You're right, _mis amigos_, we are _piratas_!' he declared. 'We do not run, we fight.' He turned to his crew, who gazed at him expectantly. 'Turn the ship back around! Get ready to fight, my friends! Today, we will win! Today, the _Britannia Angel_ will fall!'

* * *

'They're turning again, Captain!' Yao yelled from above, legs around the mast and a spyglass to his eye. 'They're coming our way!'

Arthur chuckled softly, sheathing his sword and loading bullets into his second gun. 'So, the captain of _La_ _Serpiente Encantada_ feels lucky today, does he?' he chortled.

'The cannons have been loaded, but...are we really going to fight them?' Alfred asked, eyebrow raised. 'I mean, remember-'

'I remember full well, Alfred,' Arthur interrupted. 'No killing and all that. But I haven't had any real battles in a while now, and my sword begs for some blood.' He grinned that in that savage way of his and Francis decided that he didn't really like that expression. 'The damn Spaniard isn't so much of a goody-two-shoes himself. I bet he's craving for a rematch.'

'Spaniard?' Francis repeated. This was interesting. 'I-'

'They're close!' Yao yelled, Francis completely ignored, and Arthur got to his feet as Yao descended the mast. Arthur ran to the head of the ship, anticipation for combat radiating out of him. Francis scrambled up to join him, peering over the mermaid's head to see an amazing sight.

The dark ship was speeding towards them, an intricately carved serpent coiling at its head. The winds were in their enemy's favour. Large white sails were unfurled in all their glory and standing proudly at the front of the ship was a figure dressed in gold and red, very much like Arthur himself. Francis squinted as the two ships thundered towards each other, his golden locks obstructing his vision. _It couldn't be…_

Arthur gave the order to slow down, and finally the two pirate vessels were close enough so that they could make out distinct faces. They were slowing down, and soon they would stop side by side, and a full out fight would commence. The figure at the head of the Spanish vessel had his sword drawn, brown hair plastered to his skull from the foaming water and green eyes daring for a challenge.

Everything slowed down.

Francis felt bile rise in his throat. 'Antonio...?'

The Spaniard's jaw dropped. 'Francis?!'

Everything stopped.

Nobody spoke; the crash of waves and the crack of distant thunder was all that was heard. Until Alfred opened his mouth to voice everyone's thoughts.

'…you know each other?'

* * *

**Hehehehe, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, the next one will (hopefully) not be too far away! Antonio and Arthur's past will be revealed then. I absolutely adore writing Spain and Romano, but I don't have previous experience with the pair, so please tell me if I have them out of character. By the way, Romano just _acts_ brave, but in the next chapter, it's pretty clear how…stereotypically Italian he is! :D Thank you again for your support! ^^ Constructive criticism welcomed.**

**Antonio: Spain**

**Lovino: Romano/South Italy**

**Carlos: Cuba (name unofficial)**


	5. Fifth Plank - Bystander

**Hello wonderful readers! My my, it's July already? I don't know where the time went... With Hetalia Season 5 concluded, I shall go back and rewatch the entire series. I do hope they make a Season 6. It's such a wonderful anime, and the webtoons are hilarious.**

**Alas, I have returned with a new chapter, extra long (I think...it feels longer), for all my great readers. :) I have tried my hand at a little angst at the end...but maybe I should just stick with action and humor, huh? Thank you for your support! Each review, favourite and follow helps motivate me more than you know it. :D I get all excited and happy knowing my work is being read. Ok, enough talk, on with the show!**

* * *

**Fifth Plank – Bystander**

Francis felt more than saw every eye turn to him. He had his mouth open, at a complete loss for words. Francis also felt the tension in the air, thickening as every agonisingly long second passed in silence. He certainly felt the gun that was suddenly – and painfully – stabbing him in his side, as well as the heated glare of a pair of stunning jade eyes.

'Francis, what is the meaning of this…?' Arthur hissed through clenched teeth and a forced grin that had begun to waver.

Francis closed his mouth before opening it again. No sound came out.

The ship named _La Serpiente Encantada_ had come to a stop parallel to them, their head by the _Britannia Angel_'s tail as they were travelling in the opposite direction. The olive-skinned man – Antonio – stared at him across the deck, from the head of his own ship.

'_Capitán Kirkland!_' the Spaniard's expression had changed from one of shock to confusion to fury. He began striding across the ship, and his crew parted wordlessly to let him through. He climbed the poop deck until he came face to face with Arthur and Francis, metres of churning water separating them.

Arthur gave up trying to keep a smile and his lips twisted into a scowl. 'Captain Carriedo.'

The Spanish captain pointed an accusing finger at Francis. 'What is this?' His eyes slid to Francis, and a look of concern flitted across them.

'That's what I'd like to know,' growled Arthur, pressing the pistol further into Francis's skin. Antonio saw the movement and a split second later, the muzzle of a gold-plated gun with an intricately designed ivory hilt was aimed at Arthur's forehead. Alfred, metres behind Arthur, drew his own firearm as did a dark-skinned man near Antonio, and soon both crews had weapons pointed at each other.

'S_e calmer_, _mes amis!_' Francis croaked, then realised in his panic, he has reverted to his mother-tongue. 'I-I mean, please, calm down!' he raised his hands in an attempt to pacify. 'Let's all just take a deep breath, and think this through. And please sheathe your weapons. We have no need to use them!'

Antonio hesitated before slowly pulling his arm back. 'Francis,' he hissed as though nobody else could hear him, even though his British enemy was standing right next to the Frenchman. 'I haven't seen you in over a decade! What in God's name are you doing here?!'

'Me?!' Francis shot back. 'Since when did you leave the Spanish navy to become a pirate?'

Antonio had the guts to look sheepish. 'Well, I was-'

'_Silenzio!_' a shrill voice cut through the air. All heads turned to a small man with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes, hands fisted and feet spread apart. 'You're all idiots!' he glared across to Yao, who had his gun aimed at him. 'Stop pointing that at me!' his voice wobbled and Francis could see his fists shaking slightly.

Yao glanced at Arthur and Arthur seemed to size the man up, slowly nodding. Yao slowly put his pistol back in its holster and the dark haired boy stormed his way up to Antonio. Then he slapped him.

'_Bastardo_,' he yelled as Antonio gawked. 'I thought you were here to fight them, not stare at each other like a bunch of fish! And now you're chatting?'

'C-calm down, Lovino,' Antonio's face instantly softened, Francis noticed, and Antonio gripped Lovino's shoulders. 'I'm just looking for some answers,' he explained quietly.

As the two continued murmuring in their hushed tones, Francis could sense the irritation emanating out of Arthur. He was surprised the Briton hadn't snapped yet.

'_WHAT the bloody hell is going on here!?'_ Arthur's voice ripped through the air and everyone jumped.

_About time_, Francis thought grimly.

Arthur grabbed Francis by his collar and pulled him down so that their faces were an inch apart. 'What the bloody hell is going on, Francis?' he spat. 'How to you know Carriedo and why didn't you tell me you did?! What could you possibly gain by doing this?'

'Well, I didn't know that the pirate you were talking about was him!' Francis spluttered, honest. 'I thought Antonio was in the Spanish Royal Navy!'

Arthur pointed an accusatory finger at Antonio and Lovino. They had stopped their bickering and were staring at the Englishman, Antonio's expression anxious and Lovino's plain irritated. 'Oh really?' Arthur growled, emerald eyes blazing fantastically. Arthur was amazing at reflecting his emotions in his eyes. 'Does that look like a bloody Spanish naval vessel to you?' he shook Francis' lapels some more for effect.

'Hey,' Antonio called out. 'D-don't blame him, Kirkland. I…may have lied to him,' his smile seemed a little guilty as he rubbed his head bashfully.

'_May have?!_' Arthur grated.

'Anyway, what are you doing with him?' Antonio's eyes narrowed, jaw set. 'I may have lied to him, but he's still a dear friend of mine. I would rather not fight with him here, but if you have taken him hostage, than I am willing to take you on!'

'Wait there, Antonio,' Francis began speaking but Arthur beat him to it.

'So you care about him that much, huh?' he scoffed, but there it was again – that sparkle in his eyes. And to everyone's shock, he grinned. 'I agree to your terms.'

As everyone began talking all at once, Alfred clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder. 'Are you willing to risk the entire crew for this guy?' he asked, glancing at Francis. 'I mean, I know we were going to fight them, but why have Francis on the line? Why not just hand him over and then fight anyway? Frankly, Captain, I think we can win against the Spanish no matter what the rules. And once we win, if you agree to Carriedo's terms, we'll still be stuck with Francis. This is an opportunity to get him off our shoulders.'

Francis felt duly insulted. 'If you _want _to get rid of me, why fight at all?'

'Why, Alfred, Francis, are you people actually making sense for once?' Arthur raised an eyebrow. 'Maybe I _don't _want to get rid of him,' Arthur said and both Francis and Alfred weren't sure they heard right.

Francis blinked. '…eh, _quoi_?'

'He's my – _our_ cook. If Carriedo wants something I have, there's no way he's getting it that easily. There's no way I'm handing him over just because the bloody Spaniard asked for him,' he glowered. 'I'll fight to keep him.'

'You sound like a love-struck girl,' Alfred snickered. He neatly dodged the Briton's punch and grabbed his forearm. '_Kidding_. I'll tell the crew to get to their stations.'

'No,' Arthur shook his head then turned back to the Spaniard. 'Carriedo. We won't involve our crews in this.' He climbed onto the railing and glared down at the other captain. 'We'll fight, but we'll have a duel,' his lips twisted into a grin. 'Captain to captain. One gun, one bullet, one sword. First to be fully disarmed, or shot, or killed, wins.'

The Spaniards almond eyes narrowed and his mouth mirrored Arthur's expression. 'Deal.'

* * *

'He really shouldn't be doing this. He's risking his life for me.'

'You're his friend, Francis. Of course he's going to do this.'

'…I don't think we're talking about the same person, Carlos.'

The Cuban grinned at him, patting his back. 'Antonio spoke very fondly of you. How are you? I hope Captain Kirkland hasn't treated you too badly.'

'I don't get this,' Francis murmured, rubbing his forehead. They were all gathered on the deck of Antonio's ship. Even the Nordic traders had come out of their confinement for this event, and _La Serpiente Encantada_'s crew had seemed rather confused to see them there. In fact, after finding out that a group of fearsome Scandinavians had become Kirkland's prisoners, they seemed even more uneasy. Lovino was emptying the bullets in Arthur's revolver and Alfred was doing the same for Antonio, making sure only one was in the barrel and spun so that it would be shot first. Meanwhile, the captains were trying to intimidate one another by "cleaning" their blades in front of each other. They were also having a glaring contest. 'How do these two know each other, and why does everyone keep acting like Arthur is the devil incarnated? Surprisingly, he's been quite hospitable with me, except when he's drunk. He's frightening when he's drunk.'

'Devil incarnated? Not too far off,' Carlos raised an eyebrow at that. 'Well, until ten minutes ago, I though you knew Antonio was a pirate. He always told me about your years together in that boarding school in Paris, before he took over his father's position on this ship.'

Francis frowned. 'How could he afford boarding school if his father was a pirate?'

Carlos gave him a small smile. 'You're asking how a _pirate_ could afford something. Really?'

_Oh right, pillaging_, Francis thought with an eye roll. He would have to talk about this with Antonio once this was over… Francis swallowed. 'Hey, Carlos, Arthur…he said "first to be killed" didn't he?'

Carlos's expression darkened. 'Or disarmed, I hope. To be honest, I'm a little worried. I'd heard Captain Kirkland had taken a more…gentlemanly approach to pirating, though I don't exactly know _why_. And Antonio has improved quite a bit since they fought last. He can really pack a punch,' Carlos rubbed his own jaw as if in memory. 'But Kirkland is still a pirate at heart, no matter how he acts now. I'm afraid this duel is going to bring that out again. And when Kirkland fights, _damn,_ he fights.' The look he gave Francis made the Frenchman somewhat anxious.

'What happened, Carlos? The last time they fought, was it that bad?'

Carlos looked over to Antonio. 'Watch them, and you'll be able to tell. Maybe Antonio will tell you himself,' the man flashed a grin. 'Once he wins you back.'

Francis sighed. 'I'm not some damsel in distress! I don't need men fighting over me.' He didn't want Antonio – his friend – to get hurt. He truly wished that this would end with Arthur merely disarming Antonio and not hurting him. Francis caught himself on that thought. He realised he hadn't thought of the possibility of Arthur losing. Of Arthur getting hurt. Of Arthur getting killed. He shook his head. Antonio wouldn't kill…right? They'd been roommates for three years before Antonio had to move and they had become fast friends. He didn't think Antonio was capable of _killing_.

But then again, Antonio _was_ a pirate. An experienced one, given by the expensive design of the ship and the clothes he was wearing.

Francis's gaze floated over the two men who were beginning to ready themselves for the fight to come, both handing their coats to their First Mates. Both had their guns placed in their holsters and swords in their sheaths. Arthur put on his tri-corned hat, feather fluttering in the strengthening breeze. The wind was picking up fast, and a storm wasn't too far away. Alfred gripped his captain's shoulder and Francis concentrated hard to hear what they were discussing.

'Are you deciding to end it?' Alfred asked with pursed lips. He seemed like a different man, much more serious than the light-hearted American Francis had seen him to be.

'Don't you dare even think that way. I…you know I'll stay true to my word, Alfred,' Arthur looked away, eyes suddenly unfocused, as if he was recalling a distant memory. 'I swore it.'

_Swore what?_ Francis thought, curious.

'I know,' Alfred let out a small sigh and glanced at his captain. 'You're very confident you'll win. Just be careful, yeah?'

'Do you think I would voluntarily get shot? Or stabbed?' Arthur scrunched up his nose, mood slightly lifted. 'Now shut up and watch your captain triumph.'

'Yes, sir,' Alfred beamed and slapped the Englishman on the back.

Francis smiled to himself as he sidled over to Antonio's side of the deck. Lovino had his arms crossed and Antonio was kneeling in front of him, face imploring.

'Lovino, look at me,' Antonio begged, rubbing the Italian man's arms beseechingly. 'I have to do this, you know that. I have to settle this matter once and for all.'

Lovino pouted, eyes glassy with unshed tears. 'You better not die, you hear me, you _bastardo_!' he ordered, sniffing. 'I-if you die, then I…I'll personally go up there and kill you!'

'Lovino, that doesn't make any…okay, okay,' he chuckled at the other one's glare. 'Just don't cry.'

'I'm not crying! I'm…I'm sweating through my eyes!'

Antonio smiled tenderly. 'I'll beat that Captain, just watch me. I've gotten better, you know,' he ruffled the Italian's hair. 'Just sit back and watch your captain win this fight.'

* * *

It was Francis's job to start the duel. They were graced with the presence of a light shower and those who wore spectacles kept on removing them to clean the glass. Everyone had cleared the main deck, assuming positions across the deck of_ The Britannia Angel_ and the poop deck of _La Serpiente Encantada_. The main deck of the Spanish vessel was solely reserved for the captains. Francis stood at the helm with a gun in his hand. It was Arthur's gun, the one he had given him before this mess. _I feel so useless_, Francis thought with a groan. He had a feeling this was no longer about him. No, this battle was personal, and Francis was just an excuse to get it started. Once the duel began, Francis was just an onlooker. The metal felt cold and heavy in his hand and he lifted his arm to the air, licking his lips fretfully as his cerulean gaze darting between the two enemies. Antonio's forehead was already slightly slick with nervous sweat but his hands were steady where they rested on his hips. Arthur, on the other hand, radiated exhilaration. His eyes were vehement, boiling with a raw emotion that Francis hadn't seen on him before. He was excited, _thrilled_. Maybe Carlos was right. Maybe a real fight would make him snap.

Francis took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

The result was instantaneous.

Francis was still getting over the recoil caused by the shot when he heard a sharp clang. Antonio had drawn his sword in an instant, swiping down on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur had anticipated it, stepping to the side and pulling out his gun faster than Francis's eyes could follow. He had lifted it to take the shot but Antonio had spun around, deflecting the muzzle with his blade – this caused the noise. He dropped down and hooked his foot on Arthur's leg, tripping him. Arthur's face registered shock before he rolled out of the way of another stab that would certainly leave a mark on the beautiful wood of the deck. Francis was impressed at his friend's ability to fight. Antonio had always been the better of the two when it came to sports, anyway. Francis was growing worried again – for Arthur's sake this time.

'He's gotten better,' a quiet voice whispered behind Francis. Matthew was observing from behind his shoulder, eyes wide. 'Faster. Captain may have to try a little harder.'

Francis merely nodded as Arthur jumped to his feet, hand on his hat to avoid it from falling off. A sword was now in the hand that used to have a gun. Francis had no idea when he had switched weapons. He also had no idea how amazing it was to watch the Briton, how enamoured his gaze was to Arthur's form. He knew Arthur was good, but to see it play out before him was a completely different matter. And as Francis watched the duel progress, he truly saw what it was that everyone appeared to fear about Captain Kirkland.

Arthur was like a completely different man. Not like the cantankerous captain or the dangerous drunk Francis had seen him as. Rather, he was somewhat of a mixture – he had the grace of movement of the captain, but the pure fuelling emotion of the drunk.

The Englishman had a feral grin on his face and his golden hair flopped down onto his eyebrows, dampened with sweat. Francis could only gape as the Arthur's wrist flicked this way and that, his moves like lightening. Antonio's face fell at the sudden increase in speed and he began stepping back, his breath quickening, a second hand joining the first on the hilt of his sword. Arthur copied the action and mercilessly beat down on the Spaniard. Antonio went for the tripping trick again but Arthur jumped out the way, learning from his previous mistake.

The flash of sword was dazzling and as if on cue, thunder reverberated through the tense air as the two blades clashed together. The ship began rocking as the waves became more and more restless. The two captains were inches apart, their blades in the middle as they stared at each other, chests heaving.

'You've gotten better,' Arthur said, panting.

'And you're still as vicious as always, _Capitán _Kirkland,' Antonio puffed.

Then before anyone else could react, Antonio removed one hand off the hilt and whipped out his pistol with the speed of a cobra, pulling the trigger.

_Bang!_

Everyone stilled. Francis's voice caught in his throat. _Was he…?_

The hat went flying off. Arthur's fixed gaze looked down the barrel of the smoking gun Antonio held. A lone feather drifted in the rain and settled on the wet wood between the two men. The eyes of the two captains followed it.

'You missed,' Arthur muttered.

'I missed,' Antonio whispered. 'I _missed_. _Mierda_-!'

His Spanish cursing was interrupted by Arthur's sword, and when Antonio tried to block it with his gun, the sheer force behind the attack sent the firearm spiralling out of his grip and clattering to the floor. The Spaniard returned to relying on his blade as Arthur's assaults augmented.

'You were aiming for my bloody _head_!' he yelled. 'And now you've ruined my favourite hat!'

'Well, actually, I was aiming for your shoulder,' Antonio gasped through the increasing rain. 'But I missed. I can't believe I missed. Must've been the rain.'

'Yeah, blame the bloody rain, why don't you?' Arthur swooped for another strike but Antonio skid across the wet floor and spun, roundhouse kicking the sword from Arthur's hands. Unfortunately, the slippery wood threw Antonio off balance and he fell onto his back. He scrambled into a sitting position as Arthur took this chance to aim his gun at Antonio. However, the other captain still had his sword, and he swiped it up.

'Oh dear,' Matthew murmured fretfully. 'This is bad. Very bad.'

Arthur had his revolver inches away from Antonio's forehead, but Antonio had the edge of his sword closely pressed against the soft skin of Arthur's exposed neck. Both men were as still as statues, the water dripping down their hair and soaking into their clothes, but anyone could see the coiled tension in their muscles, ready to spring.

'I though they weren't going to kill each other,' Francis whispered. 'Why are they…?'

'It was instinctive,' Yao, who was standing beside Francis, interjected. 'They weren't thinking for most of that fight. If you hadn't realised, they seemed like they were in their own world. When Carriedo said he was aiming for Captain's shoulder, I think he was lying, and Captain knew. I think both of them forgot where they actually were, and just let their bodies and adrenaline guide them.'

'And now they are both stuck,' Ivan's low voice came from behind Francis, making his skin crawl. 'What an interesting development!'

Francis swallowed. 'S-stuck?'

'Well,' Matthew pointed to Arthur. 'If Captain moves, Carriedo will instinctively move his hand and cut Captain's neck. If Captain shoots, thus killing Carriedo, Carriedo's last minute reflex will cut Captain's neck. Likewise, if Carriedo moves, Captain will pull the trigger. They're stuck.'

Francis felt a buzzing in his head as panic settled in. 'So there's no solution? We can stop them, though. We can make it a draw!' He went to step forward, but Ivan's hand landed heavily on his shoulder.

'_Nyet_, this is not our fight to interrupt. This matter goes deep. It is beyond any of us,' he said, an eerie smile adorning his features. 'Let the captains sort it out, yes?'

Francis was about to do the bravest yet most foolish thing in his life by talking back to the Russian, when Antonio spoke.

'Captain Kirkland, it seems I underestimated you,' the Spaniard's chocolate eyes were steady as they held Arthur's sharp glare. 'Do it. Kill me. It's the only way out now. You're fast enough not to get hurt, as long as you shoot where you've already aimed. You move anything else, and I'll probably slice your neck. Pull the trigger, and you win. I've lost, but I won't surrender. I wouldn't be able to live with the disgrace.'

Lovino gasped as Arthur's grip on the pistol tightened, the finger that was lightly pressing on the trigger drawing closer. Antonio's face relaxed as his eyes slid to the Italian.

'_Lo siento_, Lovino. Take good care of the ship, won't you?' he sighed and his gaze glided back to Arthur. 'It was fun. Thank you…thank you for the fight.'

There was a clatter as metal hit wood, heard by all even through the substantial rain. Antonio's eyes widened and the grip on his sword slackened as the proud Englishman before him sank to his knees in front of his enemy. Dark golden hair veiled his eyes as the man bowed his head, the dropped gun lying a foot away.

'You have won, Carriedo,' Arthur's voice whispered in a voice so pained, Francis felt something in his own heart break. 'I surrender to your sword.'

* * *

**...did that fail? Oh dear, I hope that didn't fail. It was my first time writing anything that even resembled angst, as my forte is normally action and humor. Please feel free to tell me where I can improve; constructive criticism is welcome, as always! I shall work to get better. The next chapter shall explain England's reasons for becoming...well, gentlemanly, and what happened in his life that really changed him. But we all know you can never hide who you truly are, right, England? Next chapter shouldn't take too long! Thank you for reading! Feel free to drop a review telling me your thoughts, if you have the time. ^^**


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